


Miles Before You Sleep

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Gen, Weed Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Beth and Mick have a smoke. Dassit.
Relationships: Beth Boland & Mick, Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	Miles Before You Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> HereLiesBethBoland gave me this prompt like 2 weeks ago or something and I finally got around to writing it. Someone else already took a stab at it and it was actually great, so whatevs.

“You have got to go home.” 

Mick, Beth’s ever present bodyguard, just looks over at her where he’s comfortably lounging in his car with the seat all the way back, but doesn’t make any sort of movement that tells her he’s listening or that he even cares about anything she has to say. 

Honestly, she’s getting a little sick of all the men in her life brushing her off like she’s irrelevant, so she knocks on the window. 

“Hello!”

The seat goes up slowly, and it’s not until he rolls the window down and the smoke wafts over her face that she realizes what he’s been up to. 

“You need something?” He’s got this lazy drawl to his voice and his eyes have a sleepy quality–he must be stoned out of his mind. 

_The nerve._

“Are you crazy?” Beth hisses. “There are children here! You’re getting _high_?” The last word comes out in a harsh whisper as if anyone would be up at three in the morning in this neighborhood. 

“Where?” 

The question takes her by surprise and she stands back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Huh?” 

“Where are the children?” 

Her mouth opens and closes as she searches her brain for a smart comeback but she’s too tired for that. “You’re conspicuous enough without the cloud of smoke floating above your car.”

He stares at her, nodding slowly even as he takes a long drag from the joint in his hand. 

“I can’t sleep knowing you’re out here,” she finally admits. “Okay? I have to work in the morning, can you just--please just give me one night of rest?” 

“You want a hit?” 

“What!”

The way he doesn’t look the least bit like he’s joking makes Beth chuckle nervously. 

“It’ll help you sleep,” he explains. 

“I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, cause of the baby?” He asks and Beth is halfway fuming at his little joke when he adds, “High or not, you’re still walking around with a target on your back, right?” 

She shivers then, holds herself a little tighter.

“Look, I’m just here to make sure you don’t run off to the cops. I’m not gonna--you know. It’s not gonna be me, is what I’m saying.”

“That’s so reassuring.”

She considers his offer and eventually holds her hand out.

“Give me that.” 

He starts to hand it over but stops midway to ask, “You know how to do this?” 

Snatching the joint from his hand, she snaps, “Are all of you people this patronizing?”

“What do you mean ‘you people’?” 

“Oh come on, don’t make this a whole thing.”

He laughs. “I’m just fucking with you.”

“Whatever.” 

She looks at the expertly rolled joint for a second, tries to recall the last time she did this–Jane had really done a number on her hormones and Annie was trying to help. 

There’s a tiny puff, just enough to get a taste of it, then a slightly bigger one to test the smoke in her throat. She coughs a little but not enough to deter her, so she takes a longer drag, holds it a moment, and then slowly blows the smoke out, holding the joint as she leans back against the car. 

Looking over at Mick, she says, “When you assume, you make an ass out of ‘U’ and ‘ME’.” 

He snorts a laugh and she smiles as she passes the joint back. 

The music that had been softly playing slowly builds in volume, but just enough so Beth can make out the words and Mick steps out to join her a moment later. He leans back beside her and they stand there in surprisingly companionable silence for a while, passing the joint back and forth until it’s burned down about halfway and Beth is feeling more relaxed than she’s felt in months. 

“How long is he going to drag me along for?” She looks over at Mick, waiting but not expecting any sort of answer. When he does, in fact, not say a word, Beth scoffs and takes the joint for one final, long drag she holds for a bit before slowly exhaling. Her throat is burning a little, but the swimming, languid sensation in her brain is worth it. “Why doesn’t he just kill me now? Is this fulfilling some masochistic fantasy of his? Are you going to do it? Are you enjoying sitting out here every night babysitting me?”

When no answer comes, she rolls her eyes and pushes her weight off the car, putting out the joint on the roof of the car–she takes some joy in the slight twitch of Mick’s cheek at that–then tosses it on the ground. 

“Stop smoking out here,” she tells Mick, starting back toward the house, “I have enough on my plate without having to explain you to my neighbors.” 

She gets as far as two steps before she hears him.

“He can hold a grudge,” he starts. “Like nobody I’ve ever met, so I can’t tell you he’ll get over it. 

But I can give you some advice. Make yourself unexpendable. Right now, you’ve got something he doesn’t. You have independence. Know that, own that. Just don’t rub it in his face.” 

“Yeah, I feel super independent right now. I’m a glorified cash cow with a gun aimed at my head.” 

“You’re a smart person. Smart people do what they gotta do to stay alive, and if that makes you a glorified cash cow, so be it, right?” 

“Is this you helping me? That doesn’t help me.” 

“You shot my boy. How or why that happened is between you, but I have a feeling it’s not just business, and I don’t enjoy a woman on the verge, so. It’s not help. Just some advice from your local friendly gangbanger. Easiest way out of this is through it. Know what I’m saying?” 

She nods. 

“So, basically, suck it up until he gets sick of me?” 

“I didn’t say that,” he chuckles. “At least if he’s mad at you, he’s still interested in you.” 

“He’s a sociopath.” 

“I don’t know about all that.” 

“Oh come on. He’s a little unhinged.” 

“Takes one to know one.” 

Beth scoffs at that.

“I am not unhinged!” 

“Not yet.” 

She glares at him, stares for far too long, and that has a lot to do with the weed, she thinks, but she must be doing it for longer than it’s normal because then he’s laughing at her. 

“You’re so faded.” 

She laughs, too, despite herself. 

“I’m glad you find my misery entertaining.” 

“You’re laughing!”

“Because you’re making me laugh!” 

He continues to laugh, which makes her laugh even more until there are tears running down her cheeks. It takes her a while to recover and catch her breath, the occasional giggle slipping out.

“Seriously,” she nearly whines. “Just--please no more smoking.” 

“Alright,” he says. “No more smoking.” 

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” 

“Here,” he pulls a little black cigarette case from his pocket and from it, produces two fresh joints which he then holds out for her. “Take these.” 

“What? No. I don’t--I don’t do that anymore.” 

“You sure? You might need ‘em.” 

He’s joking, but somehow it doesn’t feel like a joke. It feels like a lifeline. So she takes them, tucks them into her coat pocket and gives a little nod. 

“Thanks.” 

“Yep.”

“Goodnight, Mick.”

“‘Night.” 

She holds his gaze for a second, and thinks maybe there’s, not affection, but something, camaraderie, or whatever. Nothing that’s earned her a new friend or anything, but maybe the connection will save her life somewhere down the line. She takes the idea, tucks it away for another day, and smiles, offering a wave as she resumes her way back inside, a nice wave of exhaustion comforting her, promising sleep. Who knows? Maybe she’ll take up weed. It would hardly be the craziest thing she’s done in the last year or so. 


End file.
